


send me an angel (the swiftest one you have)

by Synapse



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: (they've very minor), Angst with a Happy Ending, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Canon-Typical Violence, Civilian Casualties, Disasters, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I know Phantoms is coming but let me have another fix-it okay?, Light Angst, Minor Artemis Crock/Wally West - Freeform, Minor Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Minor Dick Grayson & Wally West, Minor season three spoilers, Not Canon Compliant, Oneshot, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Season/Series 03, Rescues, Whump, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, no beta we die like robins, rating for mild swears and disaster aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27518191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synapse/pseuds/Synapse
Summary: When a Team mission goes sideways, Nightwing finds himself rescuing civilians... with the help of a eerily familiar guardian angel.A post-season three fix-it fic, with a sprinkle of angst for good measure.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	send me an angel (the swiftest one you have)

**Author's Note:**

> Post-season three, in a vague and undefined non-canon timeline. 
> 
> Yes, the title is a loose reference to the Lilo and Stitch meme. I have no shame, nor the brainpower for creative titles today.
> 
> Trigger warning for minor reference to death and bodies. This fic takes place in a disaster zone, and thus has a few civilian casualties. Take care of yourselves, readers <3

A chorus of screams echoes through the city, mingling with the eerie wail of sirens and thunder of collapsing buildings.

Nightwing, standing at a window ledge, can’t help the shudder that tears through him. His shoulders are heavy beneath the burden of the haunting melody of a terror-filled city.

 _Get a grip._ Powdered glass crunches beneath his gloved hands as he squeezes the sill. He leans out, squinting in the sunlight that filters through dust-clogged air. Around him, the office building shifts, its dying groans raking over his frayed nerves.

A roar of pain adds its bass to the city’s agonized song. Over a collapsing house, soot plumes, hiding the silhouette of the rampaging creature.

Well, not a creature. A metahuman. The transformation process isn’t sold only to slavers: those with nothing to lose and everything to gain are more than willing to roll the dice and see what powers they get. What they don’t know is that they’re playing roulette, a game with a hundred chambers and only one empty.

“ _Nightwing, we’ve got something new._ ”

He reaches for a grappling hook as Tigress speaks through the mindlink. “ _There's a road that needs clearing at Sixteenth and Bradley. Wondergirl’s on her way, but she’ll need your backup._ ”

“ _On my way,_ ” he answers. “ _Thanks for the heads up._ ” The grapple cracks and he swings and flies, flipping from ledges to fences to street lights.

Realistically, the creature wasn’t particularly dangerous on its own. Hard to handle, sure, but they’d managed plenty of things like it. But they hadn’t busted only _one_ metahuman. It had been a whole crew— and one had had vibrational abilities.

She’s dead. Her powers had overwhelmed her. But in her death she’d taken the whole town with her, her dying blast shaking the earth and destroying the structural integrity of every building in a five-mile radius. With first responders unable to move through clogged streets and over the massive cracks, it was left to the Team and a few Outsiders to play rescue _and_ capture the remaining criminal metahumans.

Wondergirl waves as he lands near a pile of rubble clogging the street. A fire engine rests behind it, heavy-coated drivers hauling away rubble as its lights flicker over the cracked sides of the offices between them. He assesses the situation, then goes to help two civilians move an elderly man from beneath a toppled streetlamp. Between Wondergirl and the civilians, they’re able to clear the rubble quickly. Soon enough the firetruck is wheeling away, Cassie flying off to whatever disaster came next, and Dick’s left standing in the street again, trying to figure out where to go next.

It would be easier if it weren’t for the lack of the League. Half are off-world, including Superman, and the rest are busy with their own crises. Once more, he wishes they’d planned their raid better. The mission was supposed to be simple— get in, get out, bust a seemingly minor operation.

No such luck. Now the entire city was paying for their mistake. Days like today, he wonders if Luthor isn’t truly wrong. Perhaps they _are_ hurting more than helping.

He shakes his head to dispel the thought. Doubt isn't going to help anyone right now.

As if in answer to the thought, a distant flare of panic rises in the mindlink, abruptly quelled by a rush of calm. Cyborg and Halo, unused to the large-scale disaster, are struggling to keep composed. Luckily Conner’s used to it and reassures them with barely a few words.

The darkwear contacts flicker and a chat bubble appears in the corner of his vision.

**_Time to quit daydreaming and start moving, Hunk Wonder._ **

“I know, I know. What’ve you got for me?”

**_Rogers and Vietti. Collapsing offices, daycare center at the bottom._ **

“Got it, Oracle.” He sighs, turning on his heel and lifting a new grapple.

**_Hang in there._ **

A smile touches his lips. “I’ll do my best.”

Five minutes later his feet hit the cracked pavement again, his eyes widening at the crowd in front of the crumbling building. There’s more out than there have been anywhere else, more than there should be. Maybe Static or El Dorado had been there and was pulled away, or an official had gotten in. Either way, he still needs to do a sweep, so he swings through the broken shards of a window on the top floor and starts searching.

There are still people here, most under desks. Once something drops behind him, a heavy _thud_ , and it takes all his willpower to keep his heart from racing before he returns to directing people to the (safe for now, but not for long) staircase. On the third floor, he finds someone who isn’t moving. When he presses his fingers against their neck, no pulse flutters back.

His stomach knots, but he turns away and leaves them. The living has to take priority.

A few children are scattered among the adults, and he winces at the sight. The daycare floor is second, most evicted but the eldest still scattered. They’re hardest to get, wriggling into tight spots. He has to use his escrima sticks to leverage open tiny hiding places, coaxing with a soft voice and offering hugs, then handing them off to the adults with the fewest injuries. The rooms empty quickly, sometimes faster than he thinks they should, but he’ll take what he can get. The people here must be better prepared for these sorts of disasters than most.

Finally, his feet hit the ground floor— a lobby, dim, empty, and silent but for the occasional gust of air. He’s not sure where it’s coming from, and he isn’t sure he wants to know. Above him the architecture groans. He shoots it a dirty look.

“Please,” he whispers, begging. “Please don’t.”

 _Eeeeek_ , it groans, as though to answer: _No promises._

Nightwing moves faster.

Cubicles in the second room, electric fire in the corner; a waterfall of plaster extinguishes it. Small mercies, born of much more significant danger. The cubicles are empty, and he moves on.

Third room— small, open, and unoccupied. The entrails of the building hang from shattered ceiling tiles, sparking wires, and lightbulbs. Powder hangs in the air, making his lungs convulse. _Why_ hadn’t he brought a dust mask?

There’s a beam wedged in front of the fourth door, and he has to use all his flexibility to wriggle under it before he can shove it out. He steps gingerly, wondering if anyone had managed to get through, and glances at the ceiling when it creaks. “Anyone in here?”

There’s the faint cry of a child. His stomach drops.

“Help!”

“I’m here!” he calls and spots a flicker of red under a table, a head of dark hair. “I’m coming!”

 _Hsss_.

His eyes flicker up to a slowly widening crack in the battered tiles—

Plaster crashes into him.

Nightwing staggers. Metal shrieks as something collapses. A beam plunges through the ceiling, tiles shattering in flimsy white pieces. Wreckage rains down.

The little girl is screaming, high and sharp and _terrified_.

His lungs convulse, ripping harsh coughs from his throat and threatening a fit. He fights it and lunges toward the source of the scream. The grit whirls and flies in a breezy gust as he throws himself through.

“I’ve got you!” he chokes out, hands stretching, reaching, so close—

He doesn’t.

Debris crashes onto him, pushing hard, too hard. It bangs against his leg and ribs. He tumbles, out of control, out of the way, far, too far, almost unnatural. There’s a sound from the table amidst the crashing. The _girl—_

 _Crunch_.

Dick shoves his bruised body up, heart in his throat, _no, no, no—_

Jagged splinters of wood jut up around a metal pipe. Metal ducting hides the scene, but even here he can see the obliterated table. No child could survive that.

He lets his head fall back to the ground, eyes squeezing shut. Blood and guts fill his mind’s eye. Mourning parents. A little girl, gone…

“Help!”

He snaps around so fast his neck cracks.

The voice is near-identical. _Too_ identical.

Nightwing shoves himself to his feet, shedding shattered tiles and bits of metal. There’s another desk behind him. The area is clear, with no pipes or beams or anything to threaten danger.

“Help,” the voice whispers again, and he’s _sure_ it’s the same.

He rounds the corner of the desk.

A tiny dark-haired girl stares up at him, wide brown eyes taking him in as he stumbles to his knees. Grunge and grime stains her red Wonder Woman T-shirt, but otherwise she’s unharmed. Nightwing takes a shaky breath and holds out a hand.

“Hey,” he says gently. “I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? You’re gonna be alright.”

To his surprise, she shakes her head.

“Why not?”

“Flash told me to stay here,” she confides, lower lip trembling.

_Flash?_

He’s ninety percent sure both Flash and Kid Flash II aren’t even in the country, let alone the city. Barry’s with the League, and Bart’s holding down the Gem Cities in the meantime.

Oracle, ever watchful, confirms his thought. **_Kid Flash II is in Central. Flash is with the League._ **

**_..._ **

**_Also, that’s the last room. You need to get out._ **

“Okay,” he says, more to Babs than to his new charge, and risks a glance at the dust trickling from the ceiling. “But Flash isn’t here now, and he’d want you to get out, okay?”

She hesitates, then nods.

Nightwing smiles encouragingly. He scoops her up and holds her tight to his chest. She tucks her face against the black material of his suit. Checking the room one final time, he eases them through the nearest broken window.

Even as he sets mini-Wonder Woman down and helps her look for her moms, his mind starts ticking away again, and he can’t help but wonder.

“What about Jay?” he says under his breath as the little girl tears off to two women. One gathers her up in her arms as the other hugs them both, crying.

**_He would have alerted us, and there’s no record of him or any other Flash checking in to come there._ **

Something tightens in his chest. He mentally reaches for the mindlink.

_“Nightwing to Team. Was anyone in my vicinity in the last twenty minutes?”_

A chorus of negatives answer, and he frowns. _“Okay. Thanks.”_

 _“Something wrong?”_ Tigress asks.

_“Just something someone said. Probably nothing.”_

Really, it is probably nothing. Maybe the girl had a Flash toy he hadn’t seen, an imaginary friend…

Not that it explained the strange gusts of wind. Or the way he’d tumbled out of the way of the debris just _slightly_ too hard. Or the rapid movement of the people in the building, or…

Too many things out of place and too many things just slightly off. His hackles rise.

 **_Check Eleventh and Weisman,_ ** Oracle advises.

“Got it.” He pauses to look around before moving. “Oracle, is it just me or is there something wrong here?”

**_It’s not just you. Hold on._ **

**_..._ **

**_There’s something on my feeds._ **

He slows, catching on a fire escape as he vaults over a pile of rubble. “What is it?”

**_I’m not sure. It looks like a Flash, but it can’t be._ **

“New speedster?”

**_Too experienced. It seems like they’re avoiding you and the Team._ **

**_They’re keeping out of sight of my drone and the darkwear cams._ **

**_...Nightwing…_ **

His stomach twists to a writhing knot, and not because of the dried blood smeared on his gloves and suit. “What, Oracle?”

**_If I didn’t know any better I’d think it was Flash._ **

**_Or Kid Flash._ **

**_They move just like them._ **

_Deep breaths, Nightwing._ He draws one in through his nose, lets it out as he finishes a swing. “All right. Keep me updated.”

**_I’ll try to get a clearer image of them._ **

**_Stay on course._ **

“Thanks. You know I will.” 

He touches down at Eleventh. Supermarkets and drugstores line the street, people clustered outside. Nearby he can see the flicker of sunlight on Blue Beetle’s wings, hear the hum of his cannon blasts and catch glimpses of Halo’s magic flaring. The mindlink chatters on and on: new metahumans have come out now, joining the fray. 

A tiny part of him wishes he could be there to lead. But M’gann and Conner are more than capable, and he’s not suited to massive monsters. The rescue has to take priority. 

“ _Nightwing_?” Tigress’s voice surfaces through the mess, the connection through the darkwear buzzing in his ear. They've added a new way to chat outside the mindlink, in case they need to talk on the side, and she takes full advantage of it.

“What’s up?” 

“ _There’s…_ ” 

She pauses, and his hackles prick further. Artemis doesn’t hesitate like that, not often. Something’s wrong.

“ _I think… there’s a speedster. I thought Flash and Kid Flash weren’t here._ ” 

Of course she would be the one to notice. 

“They aren’t. I asked Oracle, and none of them are here. But a kid thought she saw him too.” 

“ _So we’ve got an unknown speedster who’s probably on our side but won’t stop to talk?_ ”

“Maybe.” He gauges the magnitude of the situation. “We should alert the rest of the Team, but-”

“ _Keep it on the down-low, I know._ ”

She pauses again.

“ _You don’t think…_ ” 

“I don’t know. I… I’m not sure, Tigress.”

She takes a steadying breath. " _A_ _lright._ " The link shuts off, the buzz of the darkwear silenced. 

He shakes his head again, hoping to dislodge the suspicions tickling at his brain. A nearby car has tipped over. He goes to help, grasps the bumper, muscles straining against the weight.

A flicker of color catches his eye. There’s a neon sign, multi-lettered, _heavy_ , threatening to fall nearby. A cluster of people mills beneath, unaware. The bumper slips from his hands as he reaches for something, _anything—_

“LOOK OUT!” he shouts. 

His breath catches as they blink dumbly at him, turning to stare up even as an X begins to tumble down.

There’s a blur, a flicker of color, and then the letters are gone, dumped harmless in a nearby pile. The people scream and scatter, but the danger’s passed.

So has the speedster. 

It takes every ounce of willpower not to stare. Dick forces his lungs to work, forces them _in-out-in-out_ , and then he turns and reaches for the car again. Outwardly, he stays calm.

But despite all Batman’s training, despite his best efforts to clear the clutter and stay focused, despite all his years of experience, his mind rings at a fever pitch. _Something’s happening, someone’s here, he’s here, he’s here, HE’S HERE—_

 **_Nightwing_** , Oracle says, bringing him back. But as he reads her next words, Dick’s sure that if he could hear her voice, it’d be trembling. 

**_I analyzed what you saw on the feed._ **

“Kid Flash,” he says. It’s not a question. The person he’s helping out of the car shoots him a confused look. He ignores it and steps back, hands trembling as he tries to paste an “I am totally okay and just thinking about this situation” look on his face.

It’s not working. 

**_He’s moving too fast to tell, but the color blur matches._ **

**_It could be a trick._ **

“I know. It’s got to be. It’s not possible…” 

(And yet nothing is impossible- hasn’t he learned that these days?) 

**_We’ll figure it out, Nightwing._ **

“I know,” he says.

 **_Breathe_**.

“I am.”

He keeps moving, keeps working, takes deep breaths to ground himself in the moment, and does his best not to think of his teammates on the other end of the link or let them feel the race of his heart through the mindlink. 

Finally, in what seems like forever, the first responders are through. People are evacuated. Buildings stop crumbling left and right. Dirt settles, the air clearing the way for golden sunlight. The metahuman creature is almost down. The Team and the Outsiders close in for the final blow, taking the creature’s compatriots as they go, and it’s time for him to join them. 

The city center is a battlefield. Structures lie on the ground, so many fallen children’s toys amid trees crumbled like paper. Here the dust hasn’t settled, smoke and grime coloring the air sepia and smoke. They can only be grateful that the creature began its rampage in a park, corralling the beginnings of the destruction and allowing for escape. It’s cost the park something terrible, though, vivacious plants and grass replaced by churned earth and shattered spikes of wood. He pauses atop one of the less-destroyed buildings, watching.

There’s no need to join the fight, Nightwing realizes a moment later. His friends have it handled. 

Miss M hovers in the air, hands aloft and eyes glowing as she telekinetically pins the monster to the ground. Superboy, near the creature’s head, delivers a final knockout blow. Blue Beetle flies at its feet and tail, staple bindings holding it to the ground. Halo, Cyborg, Wonder Girl, and Beast Boy root out the remainder of the operation. 

“Nightwing! Behind you!” 

He turns at the shout. Tigress waves frantically at him from the rubble of a car pileup. A civilian sits beside her, blood seeping from makeshift bandages. She’s pointing behind him, still shouting— both through the mindlink and with her voice— and he turns to look. 

One stray metahuman emerges from a collapsed rooftop. Beside their markings and long teeth, there’s a very lethal-looking ball of glowing energy hovering in their hands. 

Nightwing moves. Kicking off the ledge, he handsprings over the debris, vaulting to cover and yanking a shuriken from his belt even as his back hits the wall. The hairs on the back of his neck rise, and he twists around to a humming noise—

Hovering five feet from him, the shining blue ball drifts inevitably closer, making a noise like a swarm of buzzing hornets. The sound is sandpaper on his ears. 

He hurls his shuriken. It melts to slag and splatters in a hissing puddle on the pavement. 

Nightwing swears. 

Then he moves, because the blue ball is _still coming._ He flings himself through yet another shattered window. 

**_It’s a homing projectile!_ **Oracle shouts. 

Tigress yells the same thing over the mindlink. “ _Move! Nightwing, MOVE! Halo, Cyborg, Blue! One of you get to us ASAP!_ ” 

His back hits a brick wall as he ducks around it. It warms beside him, and he can’t help the way his eyes widen as the brick begins to melt. 

He might be faster, but this thing is unstoppable.

As if to confirm his suspicions, Tigress adds, “ _Nightwing, keep moving! It melts through everything- keep going until someone can get to you_!” 

He rushes to another window and hurls himself through, throws himself into a backflip, swings from whatever he can reach- bent streetlights, hanging gutters, ropes, lines, fences, anything that looks remotely stable- till he can roll to a stop in the middle of a street. 

Tigress drops down beside him. The projectile is some fifty meters down the street, buzzing along menacingly. “How do we get rid of this thing?” he asks. 

“Like I said- Halo, Cy or Blue. It’s focused on you so it won’t stop,” she explains between breaths. “Just put as much distance between you and it, and don’t stop. It’ll gain speed but objects slow it down.” She shoots a crossbow bolt at the ground in front of it, foam leaping up before it, but the orb only starts to burn through.

“I can do that,” he says and starts running again.

“Try to stay close so we can find you!” she yells from behind him.

“Kinda difficult when it wants that!” 

She’s right. It’s speeding up, and he thinks it might be getting quieter to boot. If he were fresh, it wouldn’t be so bad. But he’s been on his feet all day. This isn’t something he’ll be able to keep up for long. 

Sure enough, even as he spots Halo and Cy running toward him a few blocks ahead, he’s starting to slow, the ball getting closer, closer—

He ducks beneath a streetlamp, panting as he hits dirt behind a toppled tree. Oracle’s gone silent, letting him focus. He vaults over the trunk and pauses for a second. 

Silence greets him. Has he earned a brief reprieve? He pauses to reassess, standing and stumbling away from the trunk. Halo’s clambering over the debris toward him. As they get closer he makes out the worry in their expression.

“Nightwing!” they shout, eyes locking on something behind him, and he only has time to think—

_Shit, it’s right behind me—_

—before someone slams into him. 

They go tumbling. Yellow and red blur in his vision as the world spins. An instant later a brilliant ruby light floods the air, Halo’s shield snapping into existence. Blue splatters on its surface as the orb hits it. 

Panting, Nightwing lets his head hit the ground. Safe, except… except… 

“Oh God,” someone mutters. His half-slit eyes snap open.

Someone in bright yellow and red is half on top of him. A very familiar someone.

Nightwing lets out a breath and forgets to draw the next one. 

_It must’ve hit me,_ he decides. _This has to be a hallucination. Or a dream. Something. Anything._

But the ball is spattered on a red shield, and the weight on his legs is too real, and… and…

Kid Flash— the first, the _first, Wally Rudolph West—_ is staring down at him, green eyes blown wide with worry. 

“You okay?” he asks, anxiety tinging his all-too-familiar tenor. 

“Wally?” Dick chokes out. 

The other man flinches but persists. “I know, I know, I’m supposed to be dead. I’m not, long explanation, not now. Are you okay?” 

He coughs, drags in a burning breath. “M’ not dead.” 

“Yeah,” Wally says, mishearing. “ _Are. You. Okay._ ” 

A strangled laugh spills out. “Yes. God. What the fuck is happening.” 

“Later.” 

“Uh, Nightwing?” Cyborg, who's finally gotten to them through the mess, stares at them both. Beside him, Halo watches in evident confusion, their shield disappearing. “No offense, but, uh… who’s that?” 

The darkwear icon, silent up until now- but for a few choice words of surprise and consternation at the sight of the man who is _supposed to be dead_ \- comes to life. **_Facial analysis says it’s him,_ ** Oracle provides. **_No illusion as far as I can detect. Be careful, though._ **

“It’s okay,” he says through another cough, raising a hand. “He’s- he’s a friend. I think.” 

Wally snorts, but he’s grinning, wide and familiar. “You think?” 

“You showed up out of nowhere,” Dick grumbles. “You could be a trap. You’re supposed to be _dead_. For _three years._ ” 

“Okay, but still. I’m hurt.” 

“I’m the one who’s hurt. Literally.” He can’t help the smile in his words.

Halo lets out a faint sound that might be a giggle.

“O...kay?” Cyborg says.

“Off,” Dick manages, pushing at Wally, who stands hastily. He offers his hand and Dick takes it, letting himself be hauled up. He throws his arm over Kid Flash’s shoulders, and the other bears his weight without complaint, easily adjusting to their height difference.

A strangled shout echoes through the streets, and they both turn. Tigress stands some meters away, the metahuman tied up and unconscious at her feet even as she stares at them in shock.

Dick coughs again. For the first time in hours, his grin doesn’t feel strained or faked. “You’ve got a lot to explain.” 

Wally laughs, even as his eyes alight on Artemis and his smile softens to something so lovelorn that Dick already knows he has to be the real thing. 

“You’re telling me.” 

**Author's Note:**

> What happens next? I have NO CLUE. This popped into my head one day and refused to leave... and then refused to tell me where Wally came from or what happens next. Thanks, plotbunny. Thanks ever so much.
> 
> I was originally planning to post something much more Wally-centric on his birthday (which, hello, by the way, it's his YJ birthday! :D He's twenty-six this year), but things got crazy and editing any of the other works I have would've taken too long. (I tried. Not happening in a day's time, unfortunately.) Maybe later this month.
> 
> This has been sitting around for... oh my god, I honestly have no clue. At least since last May. It's gone through revision after revision after revision and at LEAST three different "final" editions. I'm barely happy enough with it now that I'm willing to post it.
> 
> One of my major gripes with the third season was the reference to Halo questioning their gender identity... and then never bringing it up again. So I headcanon that they use they/them pronouns.
> 
> I have more "Wally comes back" fics half-written than is possibly healthy. And I'm crossing my fingers I won't need them, what with the fourth season coming. (*bangs pots and pans* please please please please pleeeeeaaasse bring him back)
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3 Come chat with me on [Tumblr](https://eyrieofsynapses.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
